


Wicked Games

by ohmyohpioneer



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Rough Sex, neither of those are tags yet but they are now, sex in the woods?, sex on a tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyohpioneer/pseuds/ohmyohpioneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately post-Dark Swan's forest confession ”I’m doing this for you.” Dark smut. My response to the five minute(ish) challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Games

It’s bloody fucking fucked up and he well knows it.

The irreverent shriek of leather rending. White cascades (braids undone, unfolding and unfolding) against the angry bark of the tree at her back, under his palm, under his hook.

“Uh,” she stutters, all ruby-lipped and passion-flushed. The awful coat at her shoulders gaping open and she gasps for air, wind taken from her with the momentum of chest to chest to tree and a quaking stop.

“Swan,” because he can’t help it.

She is mess of movement and stillness. Her hair just waves rushing past her shoulders, body frozen in observation, and he moves his hand to lock in the roots, pressing into her and pulling to him.

“Yes,” he grips tighter when she hisses.

It should bother him - that there’s nothing different about the way she tastes. That for all of his diligent categories and rules and platitudes, her tongue slides against his in the same way, her teeth hit his with the same gorgeously sickening clack.

The bow of her waist, too. Milky white and ebbing in and out to the jut of hip, and he grips, fingers white, too, hard and unrelenting.

She is only noises now, not words – of which Emma seemed so allergic and The Dark One so fond. Some being that is only composed of obscene sighs as he brushes his thumb roughly at her breast, as he bites harshly at her bottom lip.

And the sound she creates when he presses his hardness into her – saintly and demonic – and  _someone_  help him.

Leaves crack and crunch under his boots as he rocks into her, as her fingers relinquish Excalibur with a dull, earthy thud, and she moves her leg to hitch at his thigh, her hands to curl at his collar.

“ _Gods_ ,” there’s red at the back of his vision, and their lips are glancing, but only breaths are exchanged, her harsh exhales each time his cock hits her, each time the small of her back digs into the tree.

_I’m doing this for you._

He hates himself when he reaches between them, when he unzips and sinks and tugs and brings his face to her stomach, only one of her pant legs freed from around her ankle, but he kisses her just below her navel –

And  _fuck_  he loves her.

Slender fingers wrenching at his hair, twigs fracturing under his knee, good and evil and hero and villain wholly consumed.

When he rises, when he looks into her eyes and sees darkness and desire, there is no moment of quietude, no reflection before he pushes into her, and he grunts at the force of it all.

His ring gets caught in her hair (the wrong color but  _so bloody beautiful_ ), and they move and nothing and everything is the same, has changed.

“ _Emma_.”

He is irredeemable, but so is she, and it only makes him shift forward faster, harder. The point of his hook digs next to her head, and her mouth is like a newly bloomed flower – gloriously open and pink.

“ _Killian_ ,” with his name lingering on her tongue, just at where they touch her teeth and south of where her eyes are starting to fall to the back of her head, he knows he is gone.

The kiss that follows is bruising and he clenches his hand against her bare thigh, as she buries her nails into his neck, his shoulder, and groans lowly in a hushed and faltering release.

The forest murmurs quietly amidst his shame (or what he tries to quantify as shame), before she shoves him back, stoops gracefully, and rights her garments without so much as a magical flourish.

Her gaze is level when she impulsively reaches forward in a stiff motion to brush an errant lock of hair from his forehead.

“Swan,” he sighs, slumps, and she is gone.


End file.
